Just A Dream
by scarletite
Summary: It always takes the perfect dream for you to realize just how much your life is missing.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee, and any credit for characters, places, people and plot events go to their respective owners.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Post-Nationals, New York (2x22). Semi-AU set during Season 3.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>It always takes the perfect dream for you to realize just how much your life is missing.

Just A Dream

The world is hazy around her, and all she can focus on is the school in front of her, appearing much larger and ominous than she can ever remember it being. She feels an odd sense of tunnel vision, and though she thinks that she catches a glimpse of Puck and a pink-haired Quinn—and _that_ isn't weird at all!—talking in the corner of her eye, her gaze is too riveted on the building to confirm her thought, fascinated by it in a way she had never been before, as if she was seeing something entirely new.

But, strangely, she hears a noise at her side, the sound of heels on concrete, and she turns unbidden, catches a billion people swarming what she recognizes as the carpark outside the school, which is completely unrealistic, because McKinley only has about eight hundred students at most, nowhere near a billion. Besides, if there were a billion people, there would be lots of noise and talking, and right now, the carpark is silent, and the only the footsteps can be heard, each one like a bullet to her ears, ringing and resounding loudly in her head.

She looks over, searching, though for what, for who, she does not know. Her blue eyes meet dark, shining, beautiful brown, and she feels an odd chill ripple through her, all thoughts of the oddly sized building swept away.

"Santana," she breathes.

Brittany knows she is dreaming the very moment that Santana sidles up beside her at the door of McKinley High School. Santana is smiling, really smiling, and that is a huge giveaway, because it's the sort of smile that she really only allows herself when it's just the two of them, cuddled up on the couch watching Sweet Valley High or at the pond, feeding the ducks. It is a smile that she knows the Latina wears when she's happy, when the world and all its problems are a million miles away. It's the smile she wears when they're together. She's never seen it as school, in public, before, and that's jarring enough to tell her she's dreaming.

At first, she wonders what is making Santana so happy, what could her unconscious mind possibly have dreamed up that would make the girl so carefree and weightless. But she quickly dismisses it as irrelevant. Whatever it is, she decides after a moment, she loves it.

And then Santana is pressing at her side, pulling her into a loose hug that gives off the air of familiarity, as if she's so used to hugging her in public that she's not even bothered by it at all, as if there is nobody there watching; Santana hasn't hugged her in public since their first days of McKinley.

"San?" she asks, unable to stifle her grin.

The Latina pulls back, tilts her head, and though her smile has simmered down, there is a tender layer to it, and the shining of her eyes that lets Brittany know she's still entirely content. "Morning, Britt-Britt," she greets, startling Brittany by linking their fingers together, pressing their hands palm to palm. "I missed you last night."

She looks down at them, at the first time that Santana has ever let their hands meet in public in anything greater than a pinkie hold, and feels warmth flood through her chest. Their contrast of their skin pressed together, the warmth of skin against skin, knowing that it is Santana, it's too beautiful. It doesn't matter that she's probably right and this is a dream, or that this is something that can never happen; everything feels perfect and right and so amazing that her skin is on fire.

But she has been staring at their joined hands for too long, has been too caught up in her own thoughts, and has missed whatever conversation that Santana is trying to make with her. She blinks herself out of her thoughts as Santana gently tugs on her hands.

"—rittany? You okay?"

She turned her gaze up to Santana, smile stretching wider, if that was even possible. "Perfect," she breathed.

"Where'd you go?" she asked, then shook her head, because she was too used to it from Brittany. "Nevermind. I was asking if you remembered your bag today, because last time we had to go get it, Mr. Schuester got really pissy when we missed first period."

Completely forgetting the notion that it was a dream, Brittany paused, bit her lip. It wasn't on her back. She looked up at Santana, her blue eyes nervous. She didn't want to say anything that would ruin Santana's mood, and forgetting her backpack and making them miss class to go home and get it seemed to be like taking a sledgehammer to her friend's happiness.

She looked down. "I'm sorry, San," she mumbled. "I don't remember where it is."

A sigh came by her ear, but it seemed more amused than anything else. Chancing a look up, Brittany found Santana looking at her, lips quirked. "It's fine, baby, don't worry about it," the term of endearment was something that Brittany heard before, and it startled her. "You can just use my books today, okay? We'll go get your stuff at lunch."

Brittany blinked. "But I don't have the same classes as you, San."

Santana frowned at her, untangling her hand from Brittany's to press a hand to her forehead. "Are you alright, B, you seem a bit out of it today? You're in all my classes, remember?"

"Um, yeah, right." She figured, best to just roll with it. "Sorry, I'm not feeling too good, San."

The Latina frowned, not so much at her but at the fact that she wasn't feeling well. She allowed Brittany to tangled their fingers back together again, missing the contact between them already. It was odd, how something so new could be so sorely missed.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

Brittany shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. Just…San?"

"Yeah?"

She looked up at her, biting her lip. "I love you, okay?"

Santana smiled. "I know, I love you too, Britt-Britt."

Her heart was soaring, fluttering in her chest in excitement, and Brittany had never felt more warm or loved in her entire life. All she had ever wanted was for Santana to love her, even while she was with Artie, all she had ever thought about was holding Santana's hand in her own, kissing her, sharing everything and so much more. She truly did love Santana more than she'd ever loved anything else in the world.

"Now come on," Brittany turned to face the building that had once seemed huge, now it seemed like it was tiny, like she was used to, plain and normal and not intimidating in the slightest. "Let's go inside."

They walked in, hand-in-hand, without a care in the world.

(x)

Brittany woke slowly, sleep heavy and not easy to shake off. But she woke to a dark room, to her close proudly displaying the numbers 4:03 A.M., and a heat pressed to her back. Blinking, awareness returning, and with it memories of the previous night, Brittany smiled in realization. Twirling and shuffling so that she was facing the other way, she allowed her arms to curl around the sleeping form of Santana, pressing her face into the girl's neck to inhale the perfume that Brittany loved.

Santana had come over the previous afternoon after school, the two of them had passed time their favorite way, popping in some Sweet Valley High and getting their cuddle on. Everything had fallen away between them, and the distance between them since the Artie debacle, since their loss at Nationals, had been forgotten. Brittany's parents were gone for the weekend, leaving her home alone, and Santana had agreed to come keep her company. And for one night, it had been all them, their friendship and nothing else. Nothing mattered.

But the memory of the dream still lingered in her head, of how happy she had been, of how happy Santana had been. The two of them, together, everything that the both of them had ever wanted, without fear or doubt, just simply together. Nobody had even glanced at them, had done anything, it was as if they were anyone else. And she could still feel the burn of dream-Santana's hand entwined with her own. It made her think, gave her hope, that things could one day be that simple between them, when Santana would no longer be afraid of herself and what she felt. When it could just be them.

But in the wake of the dream, a fear, too, lingered. It had been so long since Santana's tearful, heartfelt confession. They were both seniors now, and yet nothing had come of it. The two of them were stuck, frozen, neither moving forward nor stepping back. It was draining, to think that maybe they would never get there, that they would always be like this between them, emotions turning stagnant.

Breathing in the sweet scent of Santana, Brittany tried to calm the tears before they started, tried to push them back. But it was no use, Brittany had never been good at controlling her emotions, that was Santana's thing. She always just cried when she was sad, it was that simple. And now, all she could try to do was muffle her quiet, gasping sobs into Santana's neck.

A hand curled at her back, fisting her shirt. Another came up, gently running through golden hair that was perfect, even when she had just woken up.

"Why are you crying?"

Brittany froze, caught red-handed, and hid her face further, as if she could just climb inside the girl and disappear. "I'm not," she mumbled, but it was muffled by the girl's neck, and the tears that had spilled out were wet against Santana's neck.

Santana carefully pried Brittany's head away from her, frowning, and clicked her tongue. "Liar," she muttered fondly, brushing the hints of moisture away from Brittany's cheeks with her spare hand. "What's wrong?"

Brittany shook her head. "It's stupid."

Santana's eyes softened. "I doubt it."

"I had a bad dream."

It was true, to a certain extend. The dream had been perfect, but waking up to a reality where things could never be that perfect was heartbreaking, and it made her hopes rise only to fall again. Even waking next to Santana could not stop reality from crashing down around her.

Santana shuffled up the bed slightly, bringing Brittany with her as she settled against the headboard, holding Brittany in her lap. She wrapped her arms tightly around the girl, gently running a hand through her hair. "Oh, Britt…" she mumbled, feeling sympathy pulse through her.

When it came to Brittany, she quickly learned that there was nothing she could do to comfort Brittany but to hold her, to prove that she would be there for her, and simply just surround her with love until she stopped crying, until she was okay again. And it didn't even matter that it was four in the morning, all that mattered was that Brittany was crying, and she needed her. And feelings aside, she would always be there for Brittany.

They sat there motionless, for a long time after that, just cuddling once more, silently taking in the others presence. It was only once Brittany spoke that the silence was broken.

"Do you think things will ever be okay between us?" she asked. "I still love you, you know. More than anything."

Santana sighed. "Honestly, Britt? I don't know. All I know is that I love you too. I can only hope that you'll wait for me."

"I'll always wait for you, San."

Santana offered a small smile, knowing that she trusted Brittany with her heart, but still not able to give her everything that she wanted to. Now, like this, was no place for this conversation; not at four in the morning in the girl's bed.

"Shh, I know," she shuffled them down, hooking her arms around Brittany once more. "Now let's go back to bed. You're okay now?"

Brittany nodded, leaning into the embrace. "I'm fine. I love you, San."

Santana sighed. "I know, you too, Britt."

Things weren't yet clear between them, the lines had been drawn and blurred too many times for them to count, and yet they both held hope for the future. For now, all the knew was that they loved each other, and that was enough for them to fall back into a peaceful sleep together.


End file.
